


Set in Stone

by BrighteyedJill



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Just a whole lot of tentacles, M/M, Monsters really like Geralt ok?, Rape Aftermath, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Uh oh monsters turn to stone at dawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: Geralt comes out the worse in a fight with a tentacle monster. And the situation only gets more complicated from there.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Tentacle monster/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 35
Kudos: 345
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Set in Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juanita_Rainbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juanita_Rainbow/gifts).



Geralt grunted as the tentacle plunged further into him. He hadn’t thought his body had room for more. Already his belly felt heavy and distended from whatever fluid the creature had been pumping into him for what felt like hours. He let out a breath and drew one in as well as he could past the thick tentacle circling his head that served as a gag. With a sudden burst of energy, Geralt tried to break the monster’s grip. He twisted his waist and tried to kick out, but the thing was too damn strong. It tightened the tentacles holding Geralt’s ankles spread, the one wrapping his arms and hands tightly together, and even the one circling his cock. 

Geralt bit back a hiss of pain and stopped fighting. His efforts had made no difference to the situation other than to anger the creature, so he needed some other tactic. Without his Signs, and no match for the creature’s strength, Geralt was running low on ideas. It was difficult to think when stuffed so uncomfortably full.

Satisfied that Geralt had been subdued, the monster resumed the relentless pumping of its tentacle into Geralt’s ass. Geralt could hope, at least, that this was all the beast wanted. It had certainly made no attempt to injure Geralt while it had-- too easily--captured and trapped him. And it knew enough of human anatomy to stimulate Geralt while it fucked him. His cock had been hard nearly since the beginning, but the damn thing always seemed to sense Geralt’s approaching climax, and had kept him frustrated all this time. Geralt wanted to come, needed to come, but he also didn’t want to give the beast the satisfaction of seeing him climax from its ministrations. Though perhaps if he did, this might be over. If this was part of the beast’s mating behavior, just a normal part of its life cycle, it would eventually have its fill of Geralt’s body and leave.

How long had it been, anyway? The night had been half gone already when Geralt found the monster’s lair: a thick stand of trees in the woods, several miles from the village where sheep had been disappearing. Geralt couldn’t turn his head, but he raised his eyes towards the east. Pale dawn light was just breaking over the trees. It had been hours, then.

As sunlight spilled through the branches and landed on them, the monster froze with a strange crackling sound. The limbs holding Geralt stiffened--no, they hardened, becoming rigid, dense, and unyielding. Geralt ran his eyes over what little he could see to confirm what he suspected: the morning light had turned the beast to stone. 

“ ‘uck,” Geralt groaned against his unmoving gag. 

Geralt slumped in his cage of stone limbs, sweating in the noonday sun. He dearly wished for a drink of water. Or maybe ale. Or an explosive, that might be nice. His Cat potion had worn off long ago, and the Swallow was now fading as well, leaving him to feel the scrape of stone against his skin and within his body at every slight movement. His cock had at last gone soft, but it was still pressed painfully up against the coils of stone the monster had twined around him.

When he first heard the distant sounds of movement off in the forest, he considered making noise, to attract some help. But it occurred to him that this monster might be the pet of some sorcerer or petty local tyrant who might now be coming to collect its prey. And anyone else--a poacher or a passing traveller--would be more likely to kill an incapacitated witcher than help him. 

However, as the sound drew closer, it became clear that the approaching human--no other animal moved like that--was making no attempt to conceal their presence, and in fact seemed to be wandering at random. Geralt began to hope.

“Geralt?” called a familiar voice. “Ugh, what is that? Off, off, fiend. Oh, that’ll never come out. Geralt!”

Geralt shouted back as well as he could with a full mouth, and soon Jaskier came crashing into the clearing with twigs in his hair. 

Jaskier didn’t laugh. Geralt had to be grateful for that. After trying to question Geralt about the situation and realizing information would not be forthcoming, he’d tried to check Geralt over for injuries, but abandoned the project when every clumsy touch jarred Geralt against the massive stone tentacle impaling him. Instead, he circled the clearing, retrieving Geralt’s swords, armour, and clothes, which he collected in a heap in front of the stone figure of a monster that had Geralt well and truly pinned.

“I have to tell you, if this thing comes back to life at sunset, I do not fancy our odds,” Jaskier said. “This thing is huge, and incredibly ugly, and if it caught _you_ , I don’t see that I have any hope of defeating it.”

Geralt grunted, not disagreeing. He eyed the equipment Jaskier had gathered, considering if anything might conceivably be of use, but there was nothing. Nothing explosive or acidic, no elixir that would make him capable of breaking stone with no leverage. Nothing.

“Geralt… I have a thought,” Jaskier said. “But it might involve touching you. Is that all right?”

Geralt grunted his assent. At least, Jaskier was unlikely to make the situation any worse. 

If Geralt had been able to make himself understood, he would have demanded that Jaskier break his fingers. Fingers could be set, and his would heal quickly. More importantly, that would be much quicker than trying to break stone.

Jaskier had set to work with the file from a small kit of burglary tools in his bag-- “Very handy getting in and out of bedrooms,” he’d said with a wink--starting with the thin stone tentacles immobilizing Geralt’s fingers. He chiseled away at a single spot until it was weak enough to crack a piece free: an interminably slow process.

“Well, there’s one,” Jaskeir said a bit too heartily, as a piece fell away and the smallest finger on Geralt’s left hand was freed.

Geralt kept his eyes on the sun as Jaskier worked. He freed another of Geralt’s fingers, then a third. Not enough yet to form a Sign. 

“This one’s a bit thicker. Fuck, ow!” Jaskier snatched his hand away as Geralt tried to push against the stone with his free fingers. “Leave off! You’re not going to break stone with your pinky. Let me work.”

The rasp of the file and the dusty scent of the stone flaking away were a constant background to Geralt’s vigil. He had only to be still and try to avoid shifting his weight lest he jar the stone tentacles around and inside him. He was stuck like a hog on a spit, and if he didn’t free himself soon, the monster would certainly resume taking its pleasure with him.

If Jaskier was still here when the sun set again, would the monster simply kill him, or would it take him as well, pinning him down and pushing into him until he was unbearably full, stroking him to miserable arousal and denying him release? Would it gag him as it had gagged Geralt, denying him even the comfort of witty defiance as it violated him? How long would it go on, if Geralt couldn’t get them free? Would the monster take what it wanted and kill them quickly? Or would it keep them to play with for days or weeks, until it had wrung out everything they had to give?

“Jaskier, you need to go,” Geralt said, or tried to, but it came out as an inarticulate jumble of syllables. 

“I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me,” Jaskier said, filing faster. “Shut up.”

The sun began to sink behind the trees, throwing much of the clearing into shadow. An ominous rumbling began just at the limit of Geralt’s hearing. He could feel it as well, within him where the stone tentacle was buried. The beast was waking. 

“Jas’ier,” Geralt said urgently. 

“Almost there.”

Geralt tried to ignore his body: his raw, limp cock, his ass stretched painfully beyond its natural limits, his aching jaw. Many of his hurts had healed since the dawn, but Geralt was under no illusions that the monster would be gentler during a second round. Flesh would be preferable to stone, at least, though perhaps Geralt only thought so because his memories of last night had already become a miserable blur. Fuck, it was going to hurt. With a shout of defiance, he began to struggle, thrashing in his stone restraints, headless of tearing his skin or scraping the tender places within him.

“Geralt, stop!” Jaskier cried, then dissolved into cursing. A moment later came the sound of snapping stone, and the fingers of Geralt’s left hand were free. 

The muscles were so cramped it took Geralt two tries to form Aard, but when he did, the force of it jolted the stone figure with satisfying force, shaking pieces loose and breaking off several of the thinner tentacles.

With more of his arm free, Geralt could aim his Sign towards the tentacles holding his legs, peripheral damage be damned. The stone cracked and shattered, and he kicked his way free of it.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted.

The monster roared, shaking violently as its stone form began to ripple again into flesh. Geralt aimed a last Aard at the still-stone center mass, sending chunks of rock flying and drawing a pained scream from the monster.

After that, a sustained Igni charred the beast until it stopped roaring and dropped limply to the forest floor, burying Geralt in a mass of seared coils. 

Jaskier, a bit singed but otherwise unhurt, hacked the piled tentacles into smaller pieces with Geralt’s sword so he could push them off and free Geralt. Even when he was unburied, Geralt still found himself pinned in place by the tentacle lodged inside him. It had been severed from the main body of the creature either during the fight or through Jaskier’s efforts, but blessedly it had reverted to its flesh form. After pulling against it fruitlessly, Geralt grudgingly allowed Jaskier to look. 

“It appears to have, uh, ridges,” Jaskier reported. “I suppose we’ll have to sort of twist it out. As one does. How deep is--”

“Deep,” Geralt said darkly. 

Geralt braced himself against the pile of tentacles while Jaskier twisted the offending appendage this way and that. It was not a fast process.

Geralt’s cock managed to overcome any lingering pain to rise in interest as Jaskier worked on extracting the tentacle. Geralt kept his eyes forward, and had vague hopes that Jaskier wouldn’t notice, but with Jaskier being so close between his legs, that hadn’t been likely. 

“Geralt. It _would_ help if you relax,” Jaskier ventured. “If you wanted to, you could… or I could--”

“No,” Geralt snapped. Jaskier had certainly done enough. “I can do it.”

“As you like.” Gently, with much more care than Geralt would have bothered with, Jaskier turned the tentacle back and forth, dragging it out a fraction further each time. 

Geralt curled a hand around his cock and gritted his teeth. It hurt, of course it did, but so did most sex. He jerked his hand up and down his shaft, which brought about equal pleasure and pain. If he did this quickly, perhaps he could make himself climax before the pain became too great. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s movements had stilled. “Gently, for the love of--it’s not a race. What about just using your fingers? Against the head, maybe, if it’s not sore there.”

Geralt attempted it. That did feel pleasant. 

“Just a light touch. There, you’ve got it. Gods, there’s so much of this inside you.” 

Another ridge pulled past the rim of Geralt’s entrance, and his hips stuttered forward, seeking more. 

“You’re an amazingly resilient creature, Geralt.” Jaskier breathed the words from so near, right at Geralt’s hip, that Geralt thought for a moment he might press a kiss to Geralt’s skin. But he did not. Instead, he pulled at the tentacle again.

Geralt squirmed as more of the tentacle slid free. Jaskier made a high-pitched noise, and Geralt turned around to see his cheeks flushed in the flickering firelight. Geralt hadn’t caught the scent over the smell of his own arousal, but now it was unmistakable. 

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, I know.” Jaskier kept his eyes down, fixed on the tentacle in his hands. “Don’t worry, I won't--”

“I don’t mind,” Geralt said. That didn’t quite cover all that he meant, but it would have to do. “The smell is… relaxing.”

“Oh, well.” Jaskier risked a quick look up at Geralt’s face, then turned back to his work. “Keep touching yourself, then. Just lightly. You’re doing well.”

The tentacle had begun to taper, giving Jaskier more room to twist the thing around. Geralt groaned and leaned his head back. Geralt remembered now why he’d been so hard when the creature was working its length inside him. 

“Are you going to come for me?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt had wanted to come since last night, since the moment the tentacle monster had wrapped one thin appendage around his cock and stroked him to hardness. He’d been desperate for it, by the end, even as he dreaded it. But this, now, wouldn’t be wrong, wouldn’t feel like being defeated.

“Come on, we’re almost finished.” Jaskier twisted the tentacle inside Geralt, rubbing him at just the right angle. “Let go.”

Geralt’s hips bucked as his climax swept through him. At the same time, Jaskier pulled the tentacle free. With it came a voluminous gush of fluid the creature had deposited, leaving Geralt hollowed out and weak-kneed with relief. Over the pungent aroma of the monster, Geralt caught the scent of Jaskier’s issue, mingling with his own.

Geralt had his clothes on and was butchering the monster for parts by the light of a cheerily crackling fire when Jaskier came back with some fresh water. They both stank of sex, but Geralt found he didn’t mind overmuch. The encounter certainly could have ended in a less pleasurable way. 

Jaskier sat on a nearby rock to dab at the stains the monster’s fluid had left as it splashed onto his outfit, but soon gave up in favor of watching Geralt sort out teeth and other bits that he might be able to sell. Geralt deserved more recompense for this trouble than the alderman had offered for the contract. 

“You know, tentacles themselves, I find, aren’t entirely unpleasant, but the looming death I could do without,” Jaskier said. “Keep that in mind next time you fight a...whatever this is.”

“Hmm.” Geralt reached for a severed tentacle and felt a twinge in his still-stretched ass, echoed by an interested twitch of his cock. “I’ll try to remember.”

“You certain you’re not injured?”

Geralt looked over. Jaskier was watching him with narrowed eyes, and evidently in genuine concern. He had stayed, even seeing what the monster had done to Geralt, with no guarantee he could get Geralt free. He’d stayed, having no way to defend himself, and he wanted to know if _Geralt_ was injured.

“I heal quickly. Next time, when I tell you to leave, you should leave.” Geralt tried to make his voice firm. Yes, in this case he’d likely be dead if Jaskier hadn’t stayed. But that would still be a more acceptable outcome than Jaskier’s death or violation. Geralt was a witcher, after all, and had been created to withstand all manner of abuse.

“Nah.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “Not one much for that. How would I ever get good song material if I ran away at the first sign of a tentacle monster?” He looked away from Geralt and turned his attention to his spattered clothes. “Well, this seems to be permanent. Perhaps I can re-dye the rest of it to match.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt stared down at the monster flesh in his hands, twisting it idly. “What you… thank you.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Jaskier said with a shrug, dabbing at his breeches again. 

That wasn’t the point. Witchers were monster hunters by trade. And if once in a while a monster tried to mate with you, well, that was part of the risk. But picturing Jaskier in the same position… No. That wasn’t an acceptable turn of events. 

Geralt pushed to his feet, dropping the materials he’d gathered into a bag, and dismissing the rest with only a momentary twinge of disappointment. “We’re going back to town. This monster isn’t one I’ve seen. If it has a mate or children, I want to encounter them in the daylight.”

“Oh!” Jaskier shot up, and grabbed his things. “Yes, reasonable, good idea. Certainly wouldn’t want that.” 

Yet he did give one slightly wistful look at the severed tentacle with its thick ridges and tapered shape, lying on the ground where he’d pulled it out of Geralt. 

“Tentacles aren’t the only things that come shaped like that,” Geralt said in exasperation.

Startled, Jaskier looked at him, and then grinned. “Well, then. That bodes well for the future.”

Geralt turned, shaking his head, and led them back towards town.


End file.
